


Harellan

by ariiadne



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Arlathvhen, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Elves, Dalish Issues, Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, Forbidden Love, Post-Canon, Post-Trespasser, Romance, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 09:28:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8008021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariiadne/pseuds/ariiadne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Cullavellan Week 2016 prompt "Happily Ever After" on tumblr -- (Post-Trespasser) Ora attends the long-delayed Arlathvhen, but she does not receive a very warm welcome.</p><p>"She never really stopped being the Inquisitor, did she? The Inquisition was never really disbanded; it had just been reduced to a one-woman army. Well… one-woman, one-man, one-dog, and now one-baby army."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harellan

**Author's Note:**

> Harellan - an elvhen term meaning "traitor to one's kin"

“Andaran atish’an, da’len.”

“Andaran atish’an, ma vhen.” The elvhen woman took her place, alone, by the fire that had seen days of communal feasting and storytelling. Her cloak still dotted with raindrops, it was obvious she had recently arrived. Just in time, as well; this would be the final day of Arlathvhen, an event which had been delayed from countless wars and catastrophes. Hundreds of pairs of eyes, some faintly glowing the low light, focused intently on her. “I am Ora’ana of Clan Lavellan.”

A booming, collective gasp shook the massive tent surrounding them, echoing the bitter, autumn winds that did the same beyond its thickly woven walls. Shouts followed. Situated in the inner circle, a handful of the Keepers and hahrens who were in attendance attempted to quell the uproar. Ora endured it stoically, silently, a weathered rock against a rough shore. After a few, long moments, the semblance of order restored, a Keeper from a far land rose to his feet.

“What brings you here, Ora’ana? Surely you know that your clan has unfortunately been prohibited from attending since their integration into the shemlen city of Wycome.”

Scoffs rang out between question and answer. “I come not on behalf of my clan. I come on behalf of the People.”

A hahren, as suggested by his robes, replied, “That is why we are all here, is it not?”  Laughter.

“I ask only for a moment of your time to share in the spirit of Arlathvhen.”

The Keepers and hahren begrudgingly decided to convene on the matter. Eventually, they reached a verdict. “Under normal circumstances, your request would be denied. But you… are not a normal circumstance, Inquisitor.”

“No longer. The Inquisition has been disbanded, if news has not yet reached you. Only miles from here, as a matter of fact.” Indeed, the year’s Arlathvhen found itself camped at Halamshiral – nowhere near the Winter Palace, of course – in the Dales.

“Indeed. So, what is it you come to share?”

Ora’s shoulders rose and fell with a steadying breath. “The years I spent serving the Inquisition, we came across many amazing things. Ancient elvhen temples, artifacts, writings. I bring to you now some of what we have found.” 

The energy in the air shifted. Animosity, annoyance, and disapproval remained, yes; but curiosity now wove in-between. Ora took this as a signal to go on. She shuffled the cloak from her shoulder, revealing what remained of her arm and a leather bag that dangled beneath it. With a bit of effort, she managed to loosen a knot, causing the bag to unravel onto the ground, its pockets bulging. Squatting, Ora reached in and pulled out her first presentation: a strangely carved orb – or, at least, two halves of it. She set it before her for all to see, backing away. After an adequate time of ogling, another Keeper spoke.

“Tell us about this, Ora’ana.”

Her jaw tightened, but her resolve steeled. “This is what remains of the Orb of Fen’Harel. It is what gave me the mark on my hand, destroyed the Conclave, and perhaps even helped create the Veil in the first place.” She closed her eyes against the screams.

After a while of trying to calm the masses once more, a hahren finally jolted up. “Silence! She has earned her right to speak!” Miraculously, the outburst succeeded. “Now, though I am personally greatly skeptical, please, tell us where you found this purported ‘Orb of Fen’Harel’? Can you vouch for its authenticity? 

“You may have a look at it yourselves. It is quite recognizably elvhen craft. I took it from Corypheus when I defeated him. It is the font from which he drew his power. I… will touch on its authenticity in a moment.”

Despite her additional candid and fantastic remarks, there was much less outrage, likely assuaged by the possibility for all of physically handling the item. She watched intently, tallying the number of nods and scowls she could see. As it neared the end of its rounds, Ora bent down and removed her second exhibit.

“I mentioned before how, not far from here, the Inquisition was disbanded amid rumors of an attempted qunari invasion. They are no rumors. It is true. And this,” she explained, holding up dully shimmering shard of glass, “made it all possible.” Less scoffing, more curiosity. “The qunari now join the list of those who have used and abused ancient elvhen technology. This is a remnant of what is called an eluvian: a mirror connected to others like it, providing almost instantaneous travel between points.”

The same Keeper as before asked, “You mean like that mirror that killed Marethari of the Sabrae clan?”

“The eluvian itself did not lead to Marethari’s end, but yes. Like that one.” Murmurs undulated among the crowd. “The qunari had been using the eluvians while also systematically destroying them.”

“So an eluvian just _happened_ to be in the Winter Palace?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sure the shemlen just thought it was a pretty thing to stare at themselves in…”

“What was it doing there?”

“A elvhen woman named Briala made use of it.”

“The Marquise of the Dales?!”

“ _That_ harellan?”

Widespread anger rekindled, Ora went into damage control. “She is no harellan. She tried to commune with the Dalish, but Clan Virnehn refused her.”

Someone other than a Keeper or hahren shouted from the masses, “Clan Virnehn is dead by the hands of a demon. The only survivors were children.”

“And me.” Someone stepped forth, dragging the attention away from the center. Another elvhen woman, ashen-haired to contrast her bright violent vallaslin. Without waiting or requesting an audience as is tradition, she introduced herself. “I am Mihris of Clan Virnehn.”

“You’ve returned, then.” By the looks of it, Mihris was pretty well-known among them, startling Ora a bit.

“Yes. I met Ora’ana while in the Hinterlands. Everything she says is true. And I _know_ it is not the first time you have heard such things. I, too, vouch for Briala and the city elves, as you well know.” More muttering ensued.

Another hahren donned a smug, condescending grin. “So you have managed to sway the former Inquisitor unlike the rest of us. Much good that does you now that she has… retired.”

“Do not group us together!” came a scathing demand from towards the back. “You do not speak for us all!”

The Keeper who had originally addressed Ora shook his head in dismay. “This has devolved past the point of proper conduct. Have you anything else to share, Ora’ana, or is this just another ploy?”

She blinked. “A ploy?” 

“Yes. A ploy. The kind your Inquisition was so good at executing.”

“They saved us!” another dissenter screeched, pushing her way to the front. “It was no ploy!”

Before it could descend any further into chaos, Ora interjected. “Yes. I do have one last thing.” From the final pocket, she extracted a large but plain key. “This key will get you into any wing in Skyhold. As a final gift to the People at Arlathvhen, I give you _everything_ the Inquisition collected, discovered, and analyzed that tell us more about the past we have lost.”

For the very first time, perhaps in the history of all Arlathvhens, there was complete silence. Nothing. Not a shuffle, not a breath. 

“Should you decide to go, you can stay as long as you desire. Much of the furnishings are still there, and the castle is protected by both mountains and magicks.”

The nothingness persisted. Finally, Mihris gently took the key from Ora’s grasp. She cast a wide, stern gaze across the rest of the attendees. “I will be traveling to Skyhold at the conclusion of this Arlathvhen. I welcome any to join me. I have seen with my own eyes some of what she describes.”

“Please, take your time to discuss this. I know it is a lot to take in at once, and hard to believe. I just ask that you trust me.”

“Why should we trust you?” This time, a hunter took the floor. “You, who fought in the name of the shemlen god and their leaders?”

She did not waver. “I did not fight in their name. I fought for us all.”

A great pressure had noticeably been building, and finally, with the utterance of these words, the tension imploded. Ora stood in the eye of the storm, breathing. The room seemed to spin. Mihris rested a hand on her shoulder, but Ora barely felt it. Barely felt anything. There was too much to feel.

No one noticed the slight twitch of her ear, and no one noticed her depart. Parting the flap of the tent was like stepping into a different world. The air outside was quiet, cold, nothing but the sound of the rain against the ground. That, and the shrill wails of a small voice. A cloaked figure bounced and swayed, all in hopes of comforting the bundle strapped to his chest. A mabari followed in suit, whining at his knees.

“Forgive me,” he immediately said when he laid eyes on her, “I tried to keep her calm, but that last outburst—”

“—It’s alright.” Ora peeled back the figure’s cloak, letting the chilly breeze pass over the infant’s reddened cheeks. “Probably just got a little scared…”

They took a moment. The figure took a deep breath, his exhale a white cloud in the cold. “Time to go?” Ora nodded wordlessly. Mounting horse and hart, the four breached the line of aravels of all shapes, sizes, and colors, heading towards the far mountains shrouded in fog.

When the little one began to fuss, they stopped beneath a grassy hill to shield them. Head bare now, Cullen searched the grass for any sticks or twigs not completely saturated by the rain, piling them for a small fire. Ora sat upon a mossy rock, baring her breast for the hungry babe. She latched almost instantly, extracting a few chuckles from her mother. But the chuckles seamlessly transitioned to quiet sobs, heavy tears cascading from her eyes. Cullen almost didn’t notice. The wood he’d gathered dropped unceremoniously from his arms when he did. But he didn’t rush to her, no; his steps were careful and measured.

There was nothing to say, really.

Cullen had moved past blaming himself. It still ached, like an old wound, but he came to accept it as Ora’s choice. It tugged his insides, thinking that she had chosen _him._ He knew she had hoped it would be all-inclusive, that she could choose him _and_ them – her clan, her people – but it was far from a perfect world. All he knew is that he would do everything in his power to make sure Ora did not have a reason to regret the very difficult and unfair decision she was forced to make.

She never really stopped being the Inquisitor, did she? The Inquisition was never really disbanded; it had just been reduced to a one-woman army. Well… one-woman, one-man, one-dog, and now one-baby army.

He still hadn’t come to fully accept his newfound fatherhood. After all the years, he thought it wasn’t possible. He blamed the lyrium at first. It must’ve been him. Not that he wanted her to get pregnant, so to speak. It was just sort of… expected? That’s what happened when… he shook his head. Then, he came to wonder if perhaps their genetic differences were to blame. Sure, there were plenty of elf-blooded folk in the world, but it was still apparently difficult for members of two races to conceive.

Then, all of a sudden, there she was. And as she suckled on her weeping mother’s breast, content and unaware and beautiful, Cullen nestled his face into the crook of Ora’s neck and did all he could not to join his wife. That’s what she was, he supposed. He felt her cheeks press against him, returning the gesture. It felt like an insufficient word to describe what she was to him. Wife sounded too small, too contrite.

He broke the silence. “Do you mind, my love?” This request calmed her slightly. Carefully, Ora removed her one hand from the child’s bottom for just a moment; just long enough to summon fire to consume the branches he had gathered. 

The both of them fell asleep against him. The sky grew darker and the rain turned to falling mist. He let them sleep. For the first time in a long time, they had nowhere to be. For now, anyway. There was a special strangeness to it. A quiet emptiness he had never really encountered since his time as a boy. It felt that, perhaps now, they could finally rest, just a little.

Rest.


End file.
